Some things you like to talk about. Other things, not so much. I would say Lyme lands in the second category.

But as a child, I was used to these two categories. Not for uncomfortable diseases, but for “society”. My father was from the south. Southern women did not run cow farms. My mother was from the north. She inherited a herd of cattle, and my father made sure they were sequestered on a farm a decent length drive out of town.

My mother, who would in the most casual way, wear proper “women’s clothing” (a skirt and possibly mis-buttoned sweater) when in town, would drive to her farm and step into a pair of LL Bean boots to walk through all the cow pie laden pastures or milking barn.

But some of the beautiful young heifers would spend their early years on the farm where we lived. And I chose one of these to be my cow. Misty Princess. I went to 4H. I learned how to show her. I wore white pants and a white shirt and competed with all the guys and their cows. We did well!

But that was between Mom (and my family) and I. It was never talked about- I don’t think any of my friends knew. They likely would wrinkled up their noses and felt baffled.

I spent time with my mother and her cows because I saw it as a chance to see her having fun. She knew all the local farmers and would chat up a storm about the crops and what they did about daylight savings when a cow has to be milked same time anyway (most ignored it). At any cow event, she also would size up the other animals there and tell me how you knew which farmer had good cows by the straightness of their back and shape of the udder, etc.

She also wrote about cows in the Ayrshire Digest, a magazine that no longer exists. I wish it did. I would love to read what she wrote, since she was very opinionated. She wanted the whole world to farm organically, and she was not afraid to say so and say why, even in the 1960’s. Her many followers were world wide. On the trip we took together to New Zealand in the late 70’s, farmers there were happy to greet her and ask her advice.

But once back home, that was separate. A nice trip. Saw friends. How’s the horse farm?

I’m not sure, now, that Lyme is altogether a good comparison. Because I don’t think anyone consider it fun. Every once it a while, I think, “I’ve learned a lot”. Mostly I’ll want to celebrate when it’s gone.

That’s unlike my fond memories of my mother with her cows. It was a separate, but it was her world. She loved it.

And what about her dog? She loved her dog(s) too., too?” – Peaches.